


A New Range of Merchandise

by Windian



Series: A Formal Arrangement [2]
Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: F/M, M/M, Meta, Post-Game, crackfic, established richass relationship, richard is operating at maximum troll levels, seriously it's zhonecage level crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 18:47:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8338720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windian/pseuds/Windian
Summary: “You’re not thinking BIG enough, Richard,” Hubert said. Glasses flashed as he clicked them back up.  “I’m talking figs. Posters. I’m talking about a range of gels with collectible stickers. The wedding between the Lord of Lhant and the King of Windor is going to be the event of the century, and every girl in the kingdom is going to want the two of you on their bedroom wall. This is the biggest commercial opportunity you’ll ever have, Richard. You could pay back the debt the Crown owes. Perhaps even add to it.”
Hubert and Pascal help Richard to design a new special line of royal merchandise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, either.

The weekly Baronan market was bustling. Half of a mind to bring back some small trinket for Pascal, Hubert found himself scouring the bric-a-brac. His brow was so wrinkled it recalled a crevasse as he sought out something suitable for the blasted woman. It was so hot his glasses kept slipping down his sweaty nose as he pushed through the infernal crowds of the loud, stinking city. If it was any other girl he'd buy her jewellery.

But then, Pascal wasn't any other girl, and that was kind of the point, wasn't it?

_I'm a masochist. I must be_ , he thought to himself as trod in a steaming pile of dog shit, reeling away with wrinkled nose.

"Hey, you there! You look like the kind of man who's looking for a gift for a lovely lady," a jewel-dealer schmoozed as he looked over an expansive and expensive selection of precious rocks.

"Well, I'm not sure I'd describe her as 'lovely'," Hubert said to himself, before he cleared his throat. "I am seeking something for a lady, yes."

"Then you've got a good eye, Sir. Every girl loves something shiny. We have the finest aquamarine from—" the vendor went on with his spiel, as Hubert thought:

_Not her. If you got her a diamond she'd probably say something like, "Neat! Thanks a bunch, little bro!" and then she'd use it as a door stop._

He pushed his glasses up his nose, pushing his fingers against his temple. To think that he used to laugh at the men in his squadron who mooned after girls they couldn't have. He'd tell them they were wasting time they could be used bettering themselves, or at least pursuing some other, more available female.

And now here he was, giving himself heatstroke in this accursed market, staring at shiny rocks she'd have no interest in because Pascal was far too smart, far too intelligent, far too wonderful—

_Ugh._ And _he_ was far too gone.

Over _Pascal_ , of all people.

If he could go back in time he'd give himself a stern talking to. _Pull yourself together man_.

Hubert cut directly into the man's sell: "Thank you, but I will look elsewhere. Good day." He strode, straight-backed into the crowd, where he was nearly knocked straight off his feet by a group that surged across the marketplace.

"-Quickly! Or they'll run out of the Lord Asbel teacups—"

What on Ephinea? Surely Hubert needed to have his ears syringed in the Strahtan military clinic soon, because he could have sworn he just heard the words: _Lord Asbel teacup_.

He followed the rowdy group with his eyes to the most popular stall in the market. Groups of young girls and boys, housewives and even a few older people were fighting to get to the front of the stall. A man was standing on the table shouting, riling up the crowd far further than they needed to be.

He'd only ever heard such ardour at certain Sunscreen Ranger signings that he'd never, ever attended and especially never waited in line for six hours for.

Hubert approached with wary curiosity, close enough to hear the spiel from the man on the table.

"Limited edition! Only one-hundred made! It's first-come-first-serve, folks. Please, no pushing!"

His ears perked up at 'limited edition.' He didn't want to admit how much those two words fired his blood. They hadn't managed to get hold of one of the rare Sunscreen Ranger Yellow buttons, had they…? Despite himself, Hubert found himself pushing through the throng to get a closer look.

"Excuse me," he said to a young woman and her friend, "can you tell me what's going on here?"

"You don't know?" the girl said in disbelief.

"What rock have you been living under?" asked her friend, chewing gum rhythmically and looking at Hubert in distaste.

"M-Madam," he exclaimed, recoiling. "I believe I just asked a simple question."

"You'll have to get in line just like everybody else," said the girl. "Though I don't think you'll get to the front. Cecile and I have been here since tuesday."

"Yeah, and we only got such a good place because we're in the _Richass Fanclub_."

"The _what_?" Hubert said, but he couldn't even hear himself as the crowd went mad. On the stall the man lifted something high on display.

It was a plate. But it wasn't just any plate. It was a Limited Edition, commemorative, one of a kind, one of one-hundred plate of…

…of Richard and his brother.

"What," he said.

King Richard and Asbel were locked in an embrace on the plate, their names and the year inscribed in graceful calligraphy. UNITED IN LOVE, the plate proclaimed.

His body locked up in shock, Hubert felt his spirit leave him. He watched, floating from above, how in four minutes with much shouting and shoving and excited screaming all one-hundred plates were sold. He only came back down to earth when the two girls who had thought he was trying to skip in line skipped past, clutching their acquisitions and speaking very quickly.

"—I'm going to put mine with my figs—"

"It'll look great under my Richard and Asbel wall engraving—"

"The world has gone mad," Hubert muttered to himself, before he staggered up to the stall. It was now mostly empty, with just a few other people perusing the other merchandise, some sporting a face familiar to him: the I Waited in Line For Hours and I was Two People Away From My Merch Face.

King Richard merchandise had been one thing. I mean, he was King Richard. One could understand the appeal. And Hubert had always approved the smart marketing. But his brother, on this thing…?

Ewwww. Just ewww.

He gazed in distaste at the array of tacky merchandise on display. There were Asbel and King Richard pins. King Richard and his brother on heart-shaped lockets. Asbel and King Richard trading cards. He picked up the locket. He wasn't sure what disturbed him more: seeing his brother on this thing, or the crummy half-hearted quality of the design. Surely this hadn't been sanctioned by the crown?

* * *

Asbel hardly had a chance to greet the brother he hadn't seen in months, barely raising his hand before Hubert stopped him with a very serious sounding, "Asbel, we need to talk."

"Uhh, okay Hubert. Is everything alright?"

Hubert pointed to the plush armchair by the unlit fireplace, and glancing up at his brother's expression, Asbel thought it was probably just the best idea to sit. Hubert sat opposite him, crossing his legs stiffly.

"Richard's on his way. He got tied up meeting some diplomats," Asbel said. Hubert nodded tersely.

Asbel strummed his fingers on the armrest of the chair. Boy, visits from his brother sure were fun. He'd hoped whatever weird thing he had going with Pascal would help dislodge the stick he'd got jammed up his ass, but apparently not because now instead of being a square he was a _gloomy_ square.

Hubert cleared his throat. He began: "Brother, I was in the marketplace earlier today, and ended up making a fairly shocking discovery. Have you seen these before?"

Whatever Asbel expected, it definitely hadn't been this. From his pocket his brother withdrew what looked like a a collection of heart-shaped badges with his and Richard's face on—

_His and Richard's faces on_?

Asbel went quite quiet. "I meant to tell you, Hubert. It's just that everything that's happened happened so fast, and Richard and I haven't exactly made an announcement—

"Yes, yes, I know about you and King Richard. That's not what I'm talking about."

"You— you're not?" Asbel exclaimed.

"Of course not, I've known about that for months."

"You have?" Asbel said, flabbergasted.

It seemed like everyone had known about his feelings for Richard. Well, except for himself.

"Yes. Good job. I wondered when you were finally going to get on with it. When's the wedding?"

"W-well—" Asbel spluttered. That was getting ahead of things a bit!

Though… when Asbel considered the idea, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant notion. His mind drifted away to the thought of Richard standing at the end of the aisle, beckoning him with his warm and radiant smile, and—

"Ahem. Brother." Hubert's dry cough punctuated his daydream like a balloon.

Asbel could feel his face burning. "What?"

"Nevermind. It's not important. I said that's not what I wanted to talk to you about," Hubert said, glasses flashing as he pushed them back up his nose.

"It isn't?" Then what on earth was this all about?

"No, of course not. I wanted to know if King Richard is aware of this bootleg, half-rate shoddy merchandise being sold under his nose, and what he intended to about it."

Asbel turned his attention back to the pins. "They're selling these?" he asked.

Hubert sighed. "As I suspected. You have no idea. And it's not hard to fathom that King Richard is equally unaware."

"Well, the two of us have been kind of busy this past month," Asbel defended himself. It'd been tough to divide his time between his work in Lhant and his visits to Barona, and he definitely didn't have enough time between the two to skip around the marketplace.

A slight smirk at the corner of Hubert's mouth. "Yes, I bet you have."

Asbel put his head in his hands. Ugh. Why had he ever missed having a younger brother?

"Ah, Hubert. I heard you were here. I'm glad you made time to stop by." Richard appeared at the door, and Hubert stood primly, Asbel just sitting and shaking his head.

"Good to see you too, Your Majesty," said Hubert.

"Please, Hubert," Richard said with a small smile, closing the door. "Haven't we travelled together as friends?"

Hubert relaxed somewhat, sitting as Richard took the seat beside him. "Of course, Richard. I've only been on leave starting this week… it's difficult to drop the military formality."

And oh, of course, when Richard was here, Hubert became totally civil.

They chatted for some time. Hubert, who made it his business to be the most well-informed know-it-all, caught them up about their friends. Cheria was still doing some relief work in Fendel, and he saw Malik often due to the Captain's job as an ambassador.

"And how about Pascal?" Richard asked.

Asbel leant forward in his seat, a grin starting to form on his face. "Yeah, Hubert. How about Pascal?"

If his brother was going to tease him, then he better take as good as he got.

Hubert recrossed his legs as stiffly as though they were logs of wood. "I can't say I've seen a lot of her recently. She's been busy implementing the central heating system up in Zavhert. The last time I saw her was about a month ago when she came to Yu Liberte with Captain Malik. Something about wanting to mess around with our Valkines. I thought I ought to keep her company, to make sure she didn't break it."

To keep her company. Asbel was grinning hard, and sneaking a glance at Richard he saw that he too was trying very hard not to smile.

"I believe she's probably just about done in Zavhert, however," he said lightly.

"Perhaps you should think about taking a trip to Fendel yourself, while she has some time off then, Hubert?" Richard asked.

The colour rose to his brother's cheeks. "Like I would go all that way just to visit that infernal woman."

Asbel and Richard stole a smile at one another.

Hubert cleared his throat. "But enough. Richard, there was something I needed to speak to you about." He revealed the pins he'd shown Asbel.

Surprisingly, he didn't look nearly as shocked as Asbel had felt.

In fact, he sighed. "Yes, I'm aware of these. I've instructed the knights to attempt to find out who's been behind the manufacturing, but so far I've turned up no leads."

"You knew about this, Richard?" Asbel asked him.

"For a short while, yes."

"And you're trying to track them down so you can get them to stop?" He looked at the pins, again. His and Richard's faces surrounded by little hearts. It was bizzare. People were really buying these?

"Of course. Because they're undercutting the official merchandise the Crown is selling. It's really digging into our profits," Richard said.

" _What_?" said Asbel.

"Oh, did I not say something to you, Asbel?" As he scratched at the side of his face, Asbel thought his boyfriend looked a little embarrassed.

"I think I would remember something like that!"

"The Crown's been selling King Richard merchandise for nearly a year now," Richard said. "There seemed to be interest in the market, so I thought I'd expand the brand. I really thought I'd mentioned it…"

"I have to admit, it's a good business idea," Hubert said, nodding his approval. "I've seen the way it flies off the shelves in Strahta. And with a royal wedding perhaps on the horizons in the future—" flushing hard, Asbel glanced up at Richard, who pressed a thumb to his chin, thoughtful. "— Well, it just makes sense to flog everything you can. I trust you won't let it go to your head, Richard."

"It's a little embarrassing, I'll admit," Richard said, and he did look embarrassed. Richard was modest, even sometimes alarmingly self-deprecating. He laughed off having a fanclub but Asbel knew sometimes that he felt uneasy about it. "But Barona's treasury is still desperately in debt, after… well." He didn't need to continue, and Asbel's complaint died on his lips.

He'd seen now close first hand how hard Richard worked and the long nights he put in trying to bring Barona back to her former glory, after what they called 'the Lambda incident.' Richard had paid out generous sums to families affected during that time, and the upshot of it was that that Windor was broke.

More than once Asbel had had to drag Richard from his study at some ungodly hour in the morning with his candle guttering, and convince him to get some sleep.

Asbel thought being lord of Lhant was hard enough, but watching Richard's work, he realised he hadn't known a thing…

He snatched the pins out of Hubert's hands. "We just need some new ideas," he announced. "We can come up with something better than this, I'm sure. Look how tacky it is. I mean come on. Hubert, you love nerdy stuff like this, don't you? You've got all those Sunscreen Ranger dolls. What do you think would sell well?"

Hubert visibly bristled. "They are called action figures, brother."

"Fine. Action figures. But you know about this kind of thing, don't you? I'm asking for you advice."

Hubert began to soften at this.

(After all. How often did his older brother come— sensibly— Hubert thought— for his advice?)

Hubert turned to Richard and said, "Show me what you've got so far, and I'll tell you what we can do."

* * *

"Pedestrian," Hubert said. They'd reconvened in Richard's study, and unpacking the samples from the King's supplies he shook his head. "It's no wonder the bootleggers are stealing the competition."

He looked up to see the rather addled look on his brother's face as he handled a mug painted with his and Richard's likenesses. The selection was rather tame. Some commemorative glasses and collectible buttons.

"I've ordered some fruit snacks," Richard protested, somewhat weakly. When Asbel shot him a weird look, he explained, "they're shaped in our faces."

_Oh, of course…_

"You're not thinking BIG enough, Richard," Hubert said. Glasses flashed as he clicked them back up.

"Jumbo sized fruit snacks?" Asbel suggested.

"BIGGER," said Hubert. "I'm talking figs. Posters. I'm talking about a range of gels with collectible stickers. The wedding between the Lord of Lhant and the King of Windor is going to be the event of the century, and every girl in the kingdom is going to want the two of you on their bedroom wall. This is the biggest commercial opportunity you'll ever have, Richard. You could pay back the debt the Crown owes. Perhaps even add to it."

"Hm… I'm not sure the current manufactures I'm using would be up to the challenge, however."

"No, I don't think so, either. For this endeavour you're going to need some very special help."

* * *

Fourier stepped over the bomb-crater that was her younger sister's bedroom, wrinkling her nose as she caught a pungent whiff of some strange, mouldy looking experiment sat in her laundry basket.

Oh, wait. It was actually her sister.

Pascal was sat at her desk with her legs folded up under her, tinkering. She was so caught up she didn't even hear Fourier come in until her older sister cleared her throat, loudly.

"Pascal, you have a letter from that boy."

Pascal spun round in her seat, pulling up her welding goggles. Welding goggles? "What on earth are you making?" Fourier asked, trying to peer past.

"Oh, you know. I just felt like trying my hand at baking."

At _baking_? But before she could say anything Pascal had whipped the letter out of her hand, exclaiming, "Aww, Hu wrote me a letter!" She threw herself down on her bed— or what was supposed to be her bed, beneath all the dirty laundry and science experiments and a potted plant she fondly called Andre. She tore open the letter, as Fourier hovered with tersely folded arms.

"I do hope you're not breaking that poor boy's heart, Pascal," she said.

"Huh, what boy, Fourier? Ooh, apparently Hu needs me to come to Barona. For _urgent_ business, he says, and he _requests_ my presence as soon as I'm available."

Fourier just shook her head. Oh well. It was really his own fault, for falling like a weirdo like her sister. She felt rather sorry for him.

"Right." She rolled to the side of the bed and jumped up onto her feet. "I'm off to Barona. I could do with a stretch of my legs. Too much crampty-cramp down in front of the Valkines.

"That's it? You're off?" said Fourier, eyebrows up in her hair.

"Yup! Seeya in a few weeks. Or you know, whenever. Water Andre will me, will ya?" With that, she grabbed her mallet from the desk and slinging it over her shoulder strode from the room.

Fourier expelled a put-upon sigh, and went to grab the watering can.

She felt rather sorry for herself, too.

* * *

"Heeeeya, Hu! So what's the urgent business you wanted me for?" Pascal said. She entered without ceremony, putting herself down on the edge of Richard's desk.

"We need you to design some new Richard and Asbel merchandise to break into the richass market," said Hubert, his glasses flashing in a very serious manner.

"Nice," said Pascal. "I'm in."

* * *

"Uhhh, Pascal. Isn't that the mecha me thing you made in Fodra?"

Asbel had come across Pascal messing with Mecha Asbel in the throne room, which had now been commandeered to be the richass merch creation room ("I gotta have a big room. Lots of space. Otherwise there's no room for my all my thoughts, ya see!")

"Oh yeah sure Asbel. I'm using him as the new prototype for the new design!"

"But Pascal… didn't it have rockets before?" Asbel asked.

Pascal waved this away. "I'm gonna take em out before I sell em, don't you worry your pretty little head Asbel!" She strode across the room to some sort of device hidden beneath a sheet. Dubious, Asbel followed her. "Now here's something I think you might like a bit better." With a flourish, and a "Ta-da!" she whisked off a sheet, revealing…

"Is that… mecha Richard?" Asbel asked.

"The one and only! Whaddya think? A matching set for the wedding! And they're gonna wear matching suits!"

Not Pascal, too. "Pascal, nobody ever said anything about a wedd—"

"Sorry Asbel, I can't hear you over the copious amount of gald we're gonna be making!"

He decided to give up.

He scratched at his neck. He wanted to help Richard in any way he could… even if that meant selling _this_. But that didn't mean he still felt a bit weird about about it.

I mean, just who was buying this stuff?!

"I can see you're lookin' kind of unsure about this Asbel, but don't worry cuz it's gonna be waaaaay better when it's all finished!" Pascal exclaimed.

Asbel frowned. "What else are you going to do to these?"

"I still need to finish building their voice-boxes, and then I'm gonna need to record some lines from you and Richard."

"Record… lines…?"

"Just go with me here, Asbel, kay?"

* * *

 

"Alright, Asbel. I've done Richard's and I just need yours. Now just do it how we discussed and speak into the mic."

He poked the mic. "You mean this thing?"

"Yeppers."

"And this is all powered by eleth?"

"Sure. I wouldn't think about it too much. Just say the lines."

"Well, alright." Asbel uncrumpled the paper Pascal had handed him and cleared his throat. And blushed hard. "P-Pascal, I can't say this stuff!"

"Why not?" Pascal asked, twiddling some knobs on her (eleth powered) machine.

His colour deepened. "People are going to buy this! I don't want everyone hearing about how I think Richard's butt is cute."

"Just givin' the fans what they want, Asbel."

"It's too much," he protested.

"Lame. Well, fine then. Just read the ones you think are suitable."

Asbel looked through the papers, turning page after page until he found one that was actually PG rated.

"R-richard… let me… let me be your sword— Pascal, stop laughing! It wasn't like _that_ —"

* * *

"Marvellous! Simply stupendous!" Richard announced, as with a whoosh Pascal swept the sheet covering the new line of merchandise. Pascal offered a bow and a little crooked smile as Richard beamed with benevolence over her creations. "Pascal, you've simply outdone yourself. I'm utterly blown away by what you've achieved."

"Aww, shucks. Thanks Richard," Pascal said, scratching her nose. "It was really nothing."

"Nonsense," Richard declared. He strode over to the mecha dolls, smiling from ear to ear. "I cannot thank you enough. But you must show me how they work."

"Now you're talking my language," Pascal said, and she turned her attention to Mecha Richard. He was about the same size as his Asbel counterpart and had been modelled in his favourite regalia. He even wore Richard's flurrying cape. "And oooh, ooh, get this! It really flurries!" Pascal pressed a button her remote control and Mecha Richard's cape started to flap behind him.

"That's marvellous. Using… some kind of wind eleth, I presume? Why, I could be looking at myself."

Pascal blushed a little. "Awww. But you ain't seen nothing yet." She pressed a button, and with a whirring noise Mecha Richard came to life. "You control him with these button, here. See?" As she spoke, Mecha Richard began to walk, his cape flurrying behind him with accurate flurrying motion detection flurry action.

Richard especially liked the flurrying part.

"Simply astonishing! And I presume the Asbel works in the same way?"

"Yep! You wanna have a go controlling him?"

"I'd love to."

Mecha Asbel was identical to Pascal's old design, except that he brandished rosy red cheeks and wore a wedding tux. Richard blushed a little, looking at him. He was sort of adorable…

Richard experimentally pressed a button, and Mecha Asbel spoke. "I… I swear my love and loyalty to you, Richard," it said with Asbel's voice, sounding adorably flustered and embarrassed.

"Yeah, it was kind of hard to get good lines out the guy. I did the best with what I got," said Pascal.

"I actually think it's quite charming," Richard said, as Mecha Asbel muttered, "I swear on my honour to protect you, my King—"

"Ah. I see the prototypes are coming along well. They look good."

Hubert strode into the room, hands clamped behind his back as he inspected the mecha dolls. Richard waited until he leaned close to Asbel and then pressed a button.

" _R-richard… let me… let me be your sword— Pascal, stop laughing! It wasn't like that—"_

Hubert quickly leaned back. "On second thought, these are absolutely terrifying."

"Oh, good god." Richard turned to see Asbel standing in the doorway, his face in his hands.

Pascal jumped and waved. "Heyyaaa, Asbel! What d'ya think?"

Asbel approached hesitantly. He said, "They'll sell for a lot of money, right?"

"Oh yeah. I mean, who wouldn't want to buy one of these babies?" said Pascal.

"I know I would," Richard said. He saw Asbel shoot him a look as though he was a weirdo. He grinned wider.

"Then they're cool. I guess," said Asbel.

"You fancy having a go controlling your big bro, Hu?" Pascal said, stuffing the remote into Hubert's hands. He blanched.

"I'm not sure I can think of anything more remotely unappetising," he said, stiff as a board.

"Well, it is _remotely_ controlled—" Pascal pondered.

"That is _not_ what I meant—" Hubert said, colour rising to his face as he pressed the controller back to Pascal. Like they were playing hot potato, she passed it back.

"C'mo—n Hu. It'll be fun. Asbel can play with Richard, too— though I bet he already does that in his spare time. Heh heh."

"Pascal!" Asbel cried. Richard shrugged at him, as if to say, _well, we do._

In their struggle, the remote controller was dropped. With a crack sound, it hit the floor.

"Oh, nooo~" moaned Pascal. "That'll be such a pain to fix."

He'd been as red as a beetroot, but now Hubert blanched stark white. "Pascal, I'm sorry," he gasped. "I didn't mean to— I mean, you were just pushing it into my hand. It wasn't my fault. You were bothering me. I—"

He didn't get a chance to speak anymore, however, because everyone's attention was distracted by the loud, crackling noise.

"Hm. Pascal… is Mecha Asbel supposed to be making those sparks like that?" Richard asked.

"Uh… that would be a negatory, your Highness."

Mecha Asbel began to spark like a Year's End firework display, turning on its axis.

"—be your sword— be your sword— be your sword—" it garbled.

"Oh, good god," said Hubert.

"Turn it off, Pascal!" cried Asbel.

She was pressing buttons frantically on the fizzling remote control. "I'm trying, okay! It's not responding. Hu smash-bash-crashed it up too much."

"Oh, so you're saying this is _my_ fault—" Hubert began, before Mecha Asbel charged towards him and he only avoided being smacked with two ton of Asbel-shaped titanium when Pascal gave him a swift, hard shove that sent him sprawling to the floor.

"Outta the way, Hu!"

"My gracious. It's completely out of control," said Richard.

Hubert, who was groaning and pushing himself from the floor said, "You don't have to sound so impressed, Richard."

"Forget about that," cried Asbel. "That thing— the mecha me— it's trying to escape!"

"We can't let out of the castle," said Richard. "If the competitors see it, they'll copy our design."

" _That's_ your concern, Richard?"

"Hm. Yeah, I'd probably be more concerned about the rockets," Pascal said, a pensive finger to her chin.

"Rockets?" exclaimed Richard, Asbel and Hubert in unison. "I thought you said you would take those out?" Asbel said.

"Yeah… I kinda forgot. Whoopsie?"

There was no time to speak however since a large, most likely rocket-related explosion ricocheted from inside the stairwell.

Richard agreed. This was definitely a _whoopsie_ kind of situation.

"After Asbel!" he declared. "We have to catch that thing. Or else we'll have to sell it as _used_!"

* * *

 

This situation was absolutely _ludicrous_ , thought Hubert, before he didn't even have time to think as the mecha doll shaped like his brother fired a barrage of missiles at his face and Hubert dropped and rolled as the portico behind him exploded.

"Rockets!" he spluttered, as the plaster shattered, showering him with debris. "How on earth can you forget to take out _rockets_? She is the most ludicrous, bizzare woman I've ever had the misfortune to—"

" _Oh Richard, you're making me blush~"_ beeped Mecha Asbel, showering with sparks, and Hubert shivered.

_This is the worst day of my life._

He shoved himself up to his feet as Richard leapt from the crumbling wall down the stairs. "Onwards, men!" he said. "We must capture Asbel."

"Don't say that like it's _me_ ," spluttered Asbel, as he followed up behind.

They chased the malfunctioning eleth machine out of the castle and out into the business district of the city where the manufacturing plants and warehouses were. Mecha Asbel continued to spark and whirr erratically, though— thank small mercies— it seemed to have run out of rockets to fire. Except it was only a small mercy, because-

"Oh, great. It's headed into the poultry market—" groaned Asbel.

When all three men emerged out the other side, still making chase, they were coughing and spluttering, stuck and coughing up feathers.

"It's heading in there—" Richard called, pointing to a shady looking warehouse sat the edge of the dingy river. Hubert's legs burning, he and the others chased it in—

Where Mecha Asbel apparently ran out of juice, and began, slowly, to grind to a halt. "Making… me… blu—uuuush…" Mecha Asbel groaned, as it died.

"I do hope Pascal will be able to fix it," Richard said, pressing a tender hand to the mech's head. He looked sorely disappointed.

"I hope not…" Hubert heard his brother mutter.

"Well. We might as well head back to the castle now that adventure's over," said Hubert, taking a step forward.

He paused, when something cracked underfoot.

Hubert reached down and retrieved a broken pin with Richard and Asbel's face on it.

He turned and looked around the warehouse. Richard and Asbel watched him in perplexity as he strode over to one of the boxes and began to dig through the packaging.

"Uh… what are you doing, Hubert?"

"One second, brother, and you'll see," said Hubert, just as he found it. He pulled it from the box and held it up, as Asbel buried his face in his hands and Richard gasped.

It was an Asbel love pillow.

He turned to Richard. "I think we've found the counterfeiters, Richard."

The King nodded. "I'll have to let the knights right away. And I'll take… this… as evidence. Yes, as evidence," he said, taking the pillow.

Asbel narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. "Richard…"

Richard's mouth split into a shit-eating grin. "Got you. You keep it," he said, shoving the pillow at Asbel.

"I don't want it either!" he spluttered.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang as the doors clanged shut, throwing them into semi-darkness.

"What on earth…?"

And a familiar voice said, "Wellz, wellz, wellz, look what the katz dragged in."

Hubert turned. And there he saw a sight to end all sights— the dark turtlez, sat on his throne— a mountain of richass cock rings— stroking a baby turtle.

"Not this guy again," Asbel groaned.

"Ah. Who is this exactly, Asbel?" asked Richard.

"He stole our swimsuits," Hubert said, staring him down coldly.

The dark turtlez cackled, stroking the baby turtle. "Yes, it was a plot of terrible darknezz and evil."

"Well, it was more vaguely annoying than evil, really," said Asbel. "It was a pain tracking them down, but we mostly had to stop by those places anyway. That pretty much sums this guy up. Vaguely annoying. And weird. So very weird."

"Whoz are you calling weirdz, buster?" the dark turtlez exclaimed, shaking his fists in agitation. "I'll have youz knows I'm misunderstoodz. Misunderstoodz I tellz yaz!"

"So. Very. Weird," said Asbel.

"Hm. Can I ask why it is you're doing all of this?" Richard asked, crossing his arms.

"Why, I'm glad you asked your Majestyz. With my swimsuit pinching plan foiled and my evil planz to mix the recycleblez with the garden wasste gone to ruinz, I realised I would have ta step up my gamez."

"Your gamez to do whatz?" asked Hubert, before he clasped his hand over his mouth. "To do _what_!" he quickly corrected himself.

"Why, my evilz planz to sell cheap, crummy merchandzing that will break after several usez!" and the dark turtlez laughed, long and hard.

"…Truly, it's the work of an evil genius," said Hubert flatly.

"And youz haven't even heard the best bitz! With the monez I make, I planz on opening a dumplingz shop. Except that the dumplingz will really be mabo curry bunz. And then everyone who called me the dirty mabo curry bun boy will eat the mabo curry bunz! Ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Asbel looked over at Hubert and they said it at the same time: "Mad."

For once, he and his brother actually agreed on something.

But Richard seemed strangely deep in thought, a finger pressed to his chin. He turned to them and said, "I think he needs help."

"Definitely. Are there any good mental health clinics here in Barona?" asked Asbel.

But Richard shook his head. "That's not what I meant… let me try speaking with him in his own language." He stepped forward. Cleared his throat. "Dark turtlez… I understandz what it feelz like to be misunderstoodz."

Hubert and his brother exchanged a panicked look.

"Howz could youz possibly understand?" the dark turtlez asked Richard.

"I toez have been made a mockeryz becuse of my culinary inclinationz. You see, I have alwayz loved natto on toast. In the castle, I would alwayz hearz whispez… they thought I couldn't hear them but I heard themz… the "strange natto toast prince," they called mez. When they mocked mez I felt the tug of the darknezz against my soul… but I fought it offz, and through it learned compassionz."

Hubert and Asbel were staring at one another.

He's joking, right? Hubert mouthed desperately.

I don't know! Asbel mouthed back.

"Compassionz…" said the dark turtlez. "I alwayz thought I waz alonez. They made fun of youz, even though youz a King… maybe… maybe I waz wrong…"

But as the turtlez spoke, the door was flung wide open, and a voice yelled, "OUT OF THE WAAAAAAY!"

A blur rushed past. A Richard-shaped blur. Pascal was riding the mecha-Richard straight at the dark turtlez. Nobody had time to say anything as Pascal raised a great war cry of, "Take thiisssssss, youz dumb turtlez!"

She hit the turtlez so hard it sent him flying smack into the wall, and the mountain of cock rings started to shift. Like a great avalanche it began to fall.

"Rich—aaaaaaaard!" cried Asbel, as he grabbed the King and pushed him from harm's way, even as the avalanche descended upon him.

When the tide of cock rings ceased, Pascal was nowhere to be found.

"Let's hurry and look for her," Richard said swiftly. He and Hubert and Asbel began to dig frantically, tossing aside box after heart-shaped box of cock rings.

_That blasted, awful woman,_ thought Hubert, as he shifted through the mountain of crappy tacking merchandise. Yet he felt a tightness in his chest as she dug, and dug and there was no sign of the woman he despised.

"Pascal! Answer me if you can hear me. _Pascal_!"

There was no answer, and there were hot, heavy useless tears in his eyes, which he pushed away in anger with the back of his hands he he dug, and dug some more.

" _Pascal_!" he cried, half choked.

There was an answering groan from beneath the mountain of cock rings.

"Pascal!" he gasped in relief. He pushed the debris aside to find a glimpse of white and red hair. He moved more to reveal the woman herself, curled up into a ball looking rather stunned, surrounded by parts of what was once the Richard Mecha.

She looked so small and vulnerable like this, and all of the protective parts of Hubert rose to the surface. He lifted Pascal up as gently as you would a child. He wanted to protect her and hold her tight and let nothing happen to her ever again.

And then she spoke. "Yooooww, little bro, what the heck happened here?" He rubbed her head and winced.

The temptation to dump her back was overwhelming, but Hubert abstained.

"King Richard was about to make a truce with the turlez, when you rode your infernal contraption into him. How could you be so irresponsible? You could have suffocated to death. Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

He was a lieutenant after all, and had military sharpened self-control.

Her eyes widened. "You… rescued me, Hu?"

Something caught in his throat. "It was nothing," he said.

His eyes stumbled into contact with hers. Something light and bright expanded in his chest.

And then Pascal grinned, exposing her pearly white teeth, and gave Hubert a pat on the cheek. "Well, wasn't that swell of you, Hu? You're such a pal!"

He was lieutenant. He had self-control.

Yet he still dropped Pascal down with an _oof_ and marched, rigid-backed, straight out of the warehouse.

* * *

Back at the castle, Asbel sat with Richard and Pascal in the sitting room, fortifying themselves with some very strong tea.

Asbel honestly thought it could do with a shot of something stronger in it. Too bad Captain Malik wasn't there with his hip flask filled with the liquid he told Sophie was "happy juice."

"Well, it sure makes him happy," she'd said.

God, he was beyond relief that Sophie was in Lhant right now. If she'd seen some of the abominations they'd discovered in that warehouse with his and Richard's faces on he was sure he would have died.

Asbel took a large gulp of tea, and shivered, just thinking about them.

"Say, where did Hu go?" Pascal asked, feet up on the coffee table and stretching out like a cat, looking totally at peace and not at all like she'd nearly been suffocated to death by ten tons of cock rings.

"Oh, I think our dear friend Hubert needs some time by himself right now," Richard said amiably.

"Was it just me or did he seem sorta weird when he went off?" Pascal mused. "I didn't upset him or something did I?"

_Oh brother, I feel for you,_ thought Asbel.

"I wouldn't worry about it, Pascal," said Richard. "He has his issues, like all of us."

"Hm. Well I don't know about you, but right now Richard I was kinda hoping you'd _issue_ a royal degree to get us some cake."

Out of all of her ideas today, this was Pascal's best one. A maid brought out a cream-filled chocolate gateau, and together they demolished it. As the sun began to slant through the wide windows, Pascal left them to one another's company.

It wasn't until she left that, with hesitance, Richard spoke. "Asbel... I fear I owe you an apology for my behavior."

"What do you mean, Richard?"

"I feel as though I may have... gotten carried away, with all this merchandise business. And it was wrong for me to have hidden it from you, even if it is true the Crown does need the coin. I should have considered your feelings, too."

Richard's eyes were soft with apology. Asbel reached across and squeezed his hand. "It's alright, Richard. I mean I can't pretend it wasn't weird, seeing my face on all that stuff. But if it helps you, I've no problem with it. You work hard enough as it is. Just... promise me one thing."

"Whatever your heart desires, Asbel." Tenderly, he brought Asbel's hand to his lips to press there a chaste kiss.

"No love pillows." He fixed Richard's gaze sternly.

"No?" asked Richard, a glimmer of mischief tucked into the corner of his mouth. "Not even-"

" _No_ , Richard."

Richard turned up his lips and shrugged, as though this was a shame. "No love pillows," he agreed, and Asbel withheld the sigh of relief. Immediately Richard was off again, talking animatedly and excitedly: "The visit to that warehouse was quite illuminating. I have several ideas now for several _new_ ranges of merchandise. We've been missing so many opportunities! Pascal's already kindly agreed to help. We're going to have to step up our game, especially, as everyone else seems to claim, if we have a royal wedding coming up…"

Asbel's breath caught. "Richard…" he said, feeling warmth hooking down, deep into his stomach. "Do you think we.... I mean... we should..."

And Richard sunk down before him on one knee, amber eyes sparkling like jewels upended in the sand.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Possible plot twist: it was all an elaborate troll by Richard and afterwards he and the dark turtlez went to Tactics to high five and eat natto curry buns. 
> 
> Also you might have been thinking, ‘royal wedding cock rings? Wtf?’ however, these were an actual product being sold in the UK for Prince William and Kate Middleton’s wedding: http://www.lovehoney.co.uk/product.cfm?p=21868 (obv, NSFW link).


End file.
